Well then, I don't own the characters. Done.
My dear Isabella.
You are so beautiful. Your mother's beauty surely soared greatly in you while you were in her womb. Yet it wilted, the minute I held her for the last time. I should have known, she was just only a poor girl, too young , too frail. The purpose of my letter is tell you what you should have known years ago. But I has often so scared that you will think differently of me. You'll see me as a monster, right? A terrible, fearful one. But it is best you hear it from my words than any other before I keep all the secrets you should know away, forgotten in old newspaper clippings and vengeful faces. I will start from the beginning.
Your mother was a budding rose when I met her. Strange it was, but she had wit, she was brilliant. She never came for help until it was desperately needed. That is where I come in. I was a teacher and a madman, with some strange fascination with young girls. I was sane enough to not let my desires get over my head. But something about your mother fascinated me. I was so...eager to see her again. So...taken. I could not put in words. Your mother had her feisty side, which I noticed that later on. Dare I say, you posses all these traits.
Your mother noticed my fascination and she responded. For once, my world lit up. Can you imagine, 30 years ago, I was so bored with life and I just carried on. And for once a window opened, allowing in warmth and happiness that I could not ever find in a million years. Well, even people would die to know all my secrets to my smile, at least that is what I like to think. Not to mention, I looked forward to seeing your mother from time to time. Now I know you are thinking I seduced your mother. You'll be surprised to find out that she was the one to make the 'first move'. My heart soared when she said yes.
Then she was pregnant with you. My God, was I selfish for wanting an abortion? Yes I was, my dear Isabella. So scared of my reputation, to realize the window had came with such a heavy price. Your mother was a good Catholic, she could not bear the thought of an abortion. So I agreed. I held her hand every step. It was my duty as well, if I was to be a father, I was ready to face anything. I told your great grandfather and Aunt, they filed a lawsuit against me. I was ready for all that, letting them judge me. I already knew my love for your mother was undying and true. For there was nothing I had to lose at that point. The case was dismissed, and your mother moved in with me.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I held her in my arms on that winter night, discussing names. I wanted Anne for a girl, She wanted Isabella, if you were a boy, your name will most likely be William Sergio Kirkland-Vargas. I asked her to marry me, she said yes. I had no ring, just a simple question. I took too much of sweet time, and now I fully know my duties as husband and father. I could not be more sure at that moment. Her labour started soon after. I panicked and she hated hospitals due to a fear that they will take away her child, being her a teenager . I took her in the bathroom and held her hand with every push. You came out 3 hours later, with a set of healthy lungs. But your mother had fainted and I was in distress. I carried her and you to the car, driving as fast as I can. I remembered the waiting, I just sat there like a broken doll. I wanted to hold your mother in my arms or at least to have you in my lap. Then the doctor came. Your mother could not have that wedding dress on the window shop display she adored so much, nor see you grow up to become a woman that you are now. I held her in my arms, saying not to cry, for she had given me so much happiness, the very least was for me to smile before she went off. I love you, she said, kissing my tears away and apologized that she was the first one to go. Her last breath came soon after, she had a smile in her face. And that is when I really had broken down.
I had to tell your great-grand father and aunt what happened. They still will not forgive me, till this very day. I understand why. I cried and cried, but then a nurse came in with you. I held you and apologized repeatedly, what will you do not knowing a mother. I could have been selfish and put you in an orphanage, never knowing your real parents as I wasted my life away in alcohol. I could, but how can I forget that your mother had given me a gift this precious, she would have shaken her head if I went towards alcohol. So I raised you like any other single father would. But as you grew up, I know now, what your mother's vows meant. She never had left me, you now had taken place as my window of light. Of course the police came in and questioned my motives, the usual, I had to clear it up. I struggled with getting a job, but at least we managed each time. I downgraded to a small college in the London outskirts, but it still pays the bills. You grew up, is and maybe, just maybe, I realized I had been selfish. All this while, was it me that took away your mother's youth? Or was it I was so compelled with my own fascination with the young rose bud?
I hope you know the real truth on your parentage. Granted I was not the perfect father. But I did my best, and hopefully to your standards, my best was good enough. I know you would not talk to me since you found out your mother was too young by society's standards and that I, was pedophile. I know I was a lonely man. And I will die lonely, not knowing a single care in the world, for who really does care for a man this age? I'm so sorry, I would love to see you in that wedding dress. I hope he is a good man. And maybe I can commit to doing my final duties as a father, for you, Isabella, I loved your mother as great as I cherished the sun. And I cared deeply for you and gave all I had. I'm happy and proud of you, Isabella Anne Kirkland-Vargas.
Your father,
Arthur Kirkland.
I had been coughing a lot lately. Age was not kind to an old man. I had been wondering long and deep as the wrinkles formed and the hair turned white. I shoved the letter in an envelope and wrote there, 'For my 'Butterfly among the Rose'. Isabella will understand it was for her. The winter season was fading into spring. Ah the seasons. Was my relationship with Lovina like the seasons that come and go? I had no clue, nor do I wish to answer it. Ah, the bells had rung. It was college graduation. This once, for I always skipped out on it, I peeked through the window. The cheers were empty. Not because of joy, but the sound of Lovina's voice should have been there, her future bright. I still regretted my actions, will she ever forgive me? I looked over the photograph that lay, knowing that it had been a good life. Lovina loved me more than any other man, I loved her more than any other woman. My heart suddenly stopped, I felt no pain, just her warmth that finally warmed my winter years.
The end.